Sedated
by lste
Summary: Halden McCall decides to return to Beacon Hills after a car accident that causes her boyfriend's death. She doesn't know what to think when she starts seeing red, blue, and yellow eyes. Especially when Derek Hale (potential murderer) starts hanging around.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

* * *

WARNING: Please read the tags. I won't feel bad if you're upset over something that I warned you prior to you reading the story. That's what warnings and tags are for. Thanks to those who read :)

Tags: Angst, Recreational Drug Use, Werewolves Can Get High, Underage Drinking, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pack Feels, Family Feels, McCall Siblings, Drug-Induced Sex, Drug recovery, Suicidal Elements, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Teen Wolf.

* * *

The sight of the brick house brings a heavy weight upon my shoulders. Sighing I adjust my grip on the handle of the duffle bag, while dragging it up the cracked pavement. My hand stutters as I raise a fist to knock on the oak door.

After a few minutes of waiting I subject myself to sitting on the stoop. I dig out my phone and snort when I see it's 12:45 P.M. Of course no one would be home. Scott is probably at school and mom typically works all day every day. Their car isn't in the front either.

The neighbors glance warily in my direction. That elder woman across the street who accused me of throwing dog shit in her front yard is peaking out her blinds — phone tucked by her ear as she watches me "stealthily." I duck into the backyard and plop on one of the decaying lawn chairs. I don't need to be arrested outside my mom's house.

Digging through the sac slung around my shoulder I pull out a case of tiny white pills. I pop one in my mouth swallowing it dry with a wince. Shortly after time evaporates. The sun is blindingly white in the cloudless sky, and I wonder if maybe I'll fry like a chicken nugget. Deep fried. I snort, throwing my arm over my eyes to block out the sun and pretend to sleep. God, do I even sleep?

Mom is the first to arrive back. She screams loudly when she sees me lying in the backyard through the kitchen window. I wave sheepishly as she comes around the backdoor. "Halden, is that you?"

"Yeah Mom. Sorry I scared you."

Mom looks different. She's always been more on the lean side, but she's definitely lost a lot of weight since the divorce. I can't believe I haven't seen her in six years.

A shaky smile appears on her face. "I-I didn't know you were going to be here. Why didn't you call? I would have taken the day off."

Her arms are suddenly around me. My head tucked into her neck as she squeezes me the only way I know my mom can. "I missed you, Mom."

"I missed you too."

I pull back. "I didn't know I was coming…"

Her hand grips at my chin to tilt my face towards her. I grimace as she catches sight of the nasty green bruise on my cheek and the stitches on my forehead. "Baby… what happened to your face?"

"Dad didn't tell you?"

She seethes. "No."

"I… I was in a car accident a few weeks ago."

"A-a few weeks ago?"

I nod.

"Ohhhh-oh boy. When I…" Her eyes darken. "When I talk to him…"

"It's okay Mom. I'm okay, it…" It was a huge deal. A huge fucking deal. My entire world is turned upside down and I can't tell what's right from left."I'm in…" a million pieces and I don't know where to go from here. "Okay. I'm okay, Mom."

She catches sight of my duffle bag. "How long are you staying?"

"I don't know," I tell her, wincing at my helpless tone. "I-I can't stay with him anymore. I can't be there anymore. I…" I'm not okay.

Smiling, she starts to push me towards the stairs. "Go put your things upstairs. I was going to fix Scott and me a sandwich before I head in for my second shift. I'm pulling a double today. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, please."

I tiptoe upstairs. The hall is lined with family photos. Most are of Scott, but there are a few of me. A smile creeps on my lips as I see an embarrassing one of Scott and I taking a bath together; he had devil horns and I adorned a majestic soap beard.

The room I grew up in is still the same. Powder blue walls, anti-possession symbol patterned bed sheets. It even smelt like the awful perfume I lathered myself in at fourteen.

"Woah!" Jumping at the noise, I turn around. A much larger version of my ten-year-old brother stands in my doorway. It's sad to think that I wouldn't be able to recognize him walking on the street.

"Hey Scotty. It's good to see you."

Scott gapes. "Your hair is purple."

"Yeah… I wanted a change," I say. Hesitantly I tug on one of the lilac strands, I know theres almost an inch of roots; the same rich chocolate brown similar to Scott and my mom's.

He laughs. "Well, it looks cool." There is a silent I guess in his tone.

"Come here." I don't wait, striding over and wrapping around him. "I missed you."

Scott inhales deeply. "I missed you too."

"You're taller than me now."

"And you're shorter."

I scoff as he ruffles the top of my head like I'm the younger sibling. Ducking out of his grip, I tickle his sides where I remember a tinier, slightly chunkier, version of my brother that would convulse in fits of laughter. All I feel is sharp muscle. "When the fuck did you get so ripped?"

His cheeks burn. "I wanted to make first line in lacrosse this year. I've been working out all summer."

"Well, you look great. Did you already have tryouts?"

He beams. "I made first line." Suddenly his smile drops and I frown along with him. He doesn't elaborate.

"Isn't that a good thing?" I press.

He sighs. "Yeah… it's just…" shrugging, he glances towards the doorway. "Mom's done making the sandwiches. Let's go."

"How do you know she's-"

"Scott, Halden! Foods ready!"

I snort, this must be something Scott and mom do all the time. We trudge down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mom passes each of us a a sandwich with turkey, lettuce, tomato, and a huge slab of mayo.

"Does your father know you're here?" Mom asks while resting her lean elbows on the counter.

I shrug. "Maybe. I left a note on the fridge."

"You didn't think to tell him…?"

"Dad and I haven't talked in a few months."

The look of rage filled her face once more. "What do you mean by months?"

I swallow the bite of my sandwich before answering. "I moved out almost a year ago. I've been staying with him for a few weeks since the accident, but he hasn't actually spoken to me." I didn't want to tell her why we haven't spoken. As much as it pains me to say, it's not like a blame him.

"Hm," is all she gets out. She devours the rest of her sandwich, her eyebrows raised in that familiar 'pissed off' high territory. "I am going to go make a phone call. Make yourself comfortable, Halden. Let me know if you forgot where anything is." Pressing a kiss to my temple, she descends up the stairs leaving my brother and I alone.

"Mom said you were in an accident," Scott says.

"Yeah…"

He furrows his brows. "What kind of accident? It's not a… boyfriend? Right?"

My nails tap along the marble countertop. "No, of course not. I was in a car accident."

He tilts his head to the side.

I clean up my mess and shoot Scott an uncomfortable grin. "I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to take a nap."

His eyes are on me the entire way up the stairs.

I don't sleep. Lying dazedly in the bed as the drug buzzes through my veins like a fright train. My mind feels open, exposed, and enlightened. I feel empty.

There's a knock on the door sometime later. I open it to find my mom dressed in her nurse scrubs, curly hair pulled into a ponytail. "I'm leaving for work. There's food in the fridge… um, we don't really have much extra so you'll have to make do with what we have. We haven't touched your room, other than to dust and clean. So… everything should be where you left it."

"Thank you.""Hey Scott!" There's a muffled "what?" from behind his door. "Don't talk to me through the door. Get up."

He groans. Opens the door and slumps into the archway, hair a disheveled mess and looking so much like an angsty teenager it makes me want to barf.

"Late shift again for me. But I am taking Saturday off to see your first game," she tells Scott with a proud grin. She touches my shoulder. "You should come Halden."

Scott groans. "No, you guys can't."

"Oh, no, I can and I will. Come on, one shift isn't going to break us… completely." Mom adds the last part softly. Scott blinks at her with blotchy red eyes. "Hey, what's wrong with your eyes? You look like you haven't slept in days."

Or like he's been smoking a lot of pot.

Scott shrugs, stuttering out, "Oh, uh, it's nothing. I'm just — stressed."

"Just stress?" She frowns. "Nothing else?"

"Homework…"

"I mean, it's not like you're on drugs or anything, right?"

I don't need to see her expression to hear what she's actually saying. She spoke to Dad. He told her.

Scott raises a brow. "Right now?"

"I'm sorry, what do you mean "right now"? Have you ever taken drugs?"

"Have you?"

She exhales heavily, while giving up on the argument. "Get some rest." She rounds on me next. "You too. You look like you can use a whole weeks rest."

"Sure."

Mom treads down the stairs. Scott appears defeated, staring idly at the floor as if it's the cause of his demise.

"Something wrong?"

He groans. "Everything."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I just…" Scott deflates. "I can't play the game on Saturday. And nobody understands."

"Why can't you play?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he mutters angrily. "It's not like you care anyway. You haven't been around in years."

My back straightens. "Hey. I'm not Dad. Don't talk to me that way. I didn't choose to go with him, I didn't get a say. Guess what? I'm nineteen now and I came here."

"Yeah." He sits up and glowers. "Because Dad knows you're a druggie. And you have no place to go since your boyfriend's dead."

The air sucks out of my lungs, each word filling me with ice.

"Haldey, I'm sor-"

"Save it, Scott. I know. I'm… I'm a terrible person. Sorry, I just… you're right. I have no one else other than Mom and…" I don't even have my brother. "I won't try, okay. If you don't want me to make up for anything, I won't. I promise."

Twisting around, I lock my bedroom door behind me. Scott doesn't bother me as I slide to the floor.

 _thissucksthissucksthissucksthissucks._

"Fuck." My head thumps against the door.

I don't know how long I sit there staring at nothing.

* * *

There's a loud bang from the other room and Scott shouting. "They didn't see anything! I..s - swear, I-"

"And they won't. Because if you even try to play in that game on Saturday I'm going to kill you myself."

"Scott?" There's scuffling, and I rush to Scott's bedroom.

Scott is staring out his open window. His computer chair is turned over, and his laptop is frozen with a distorted buzzed haired teen on the screen.

"Scott?"

He jumps, eyes catching me. Then he looks around the room warily, and scratches at the back of his floppy haired skull. "Stiles and I were Skyping when the internet froze. I rolled back and fell out of the chair. It's nothing."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

It's clearly a lie, but it's not like I can prove it. Turning I move to leave his room but his hand reaches for my shoulder. "I didn't mean what I said earlier… I'm sorry about your boyfriend… and I-I want to help, I want you here," he whispers.

I try to pretend I'm not a cry baby, but I'm sniffling before I can stop myself. He wraps me in a hug. "I want to get better so bad. I want to be _me_ again." Do I even know who _me_ is?

Scott squeezes me tighter. "Come to my game on Saturday."

* * *

The next day I lounge around the living room watching Beacon Hills Newscast. Mom is at work Scott's at school, and I'm sick of staring at the stupid walls. I really would rather watch anything else, but apparently the remote is missing.

The front door opens and Mom enters carrying a bag of takeout. "I splurged," she says. "I couldn't help it. Scott's first game being on the field, and you're home. Can you do me a favor? Grab plates and forks. Scott was on his way home ten minutes ago from his friends house."

Searching through the cabinets, I find an array of mismatched plates. I sort them on the coffee table as Scott enters. He doesn't hesitate to immediately dig inside the bags.

"Hey." I sit beside him on the couch. "How was school? And whatever else you do in your free time?"

Before he can answer there's a loud "Scott McCall," shouted from Mom's bedroom. She's stomping down the stairs a second later. Scott hunches over to block the oncoming slaughter. "Do you want to explain to me why the Sheriff just called to let me know that Stiles and you are a key witness in a murder case?"

"Mommmm," Scott drags out while he motions to the food.

She does not appear impressed.

"Ugh, Stiles and I were in the forest the other night-"

Mom scoffs. "-the other night?"

Deciding they were going to be awhile I start to make my plate. It's kind of nice to know I'm not the only child that pisses off our parents. The last time I saw Scott he was the little golden child Dad dreamed of having over me, but he fucked up too bad to obtain. Mom would have murdered Dad if he took Scott after what happened, but he had his people to get me in the custody battle. He had to have something over my mother.

"Stiles and I went out into the forest and I dropped my inhaler… So, we went back for it, and we found a dead body buried by the Hale house."

I cringe. "The Hale house? Really? That's awful. I remember them from elementary school."

"Well, you'll never guess who buried the body," Scott says. But he doesn't have to say anything, Beacon Hills Newscast start blaring the name Derek Hale; one of the only survivors from the Hale fire. Also, two-years-older than me and was in my gym period my freshman year at Beacon Hills High. I remember it was in the middle of that year the fire happened, and the students were required to have a moment of silence for the eleven townspeople that perished.

The anchor informs they are completing DNA and blood tests to figure out if he is the murderer of Jane Doe, currently he's the only potential suspect they have. What is weird is that they have a detailed drawing of him, but no actual picture. You would think they would pull up some of his old year book photos, or a mugshot.

"He's pretty hot. He really grew into his ears."

Scott growls. Growls. Literally. I eye him and he coughs. "He's a murderer."

"Accused." I wink. "And damn if I don't remember that body from gym class…"

Mom rolls her eyes. "Seriously, Scott. If I have to hear anything like this from Sheriff Stilinski before you again you will be grounded. I promise you. And no more going into the forest. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Stiles wanted to-"

"-I'm pretty sure Stiles isn't putting a gun to your head." Mom sits on my right, placing me in the middle of the bickering duo.

"Not yet," Scott says.

Mom gives me an exasperated look. "Stiles is around a lot. Likes to climb through Scott's window in the middle of the night." She leans forward to peer at Scott. "Tell Stiles the next time he does, I won't refrain from hitting him with the bat. I'm upgrading to metal."

He snorts. "I'll let him know."

I wonder if Stiles is the person that was in Scott's room last night?

Mom finishes her meal quickly. Muttering "it's been a long day," and then she announces she's taking a bath; she's gone in a flash. Scott and I are left alone, which is awkward. Mostly because of the tension lingering from last night.

My own brother hates me. He thinks I'm a monster.

A nauseating feeling has me cleaning up my plate instead of finishing it. I put the leftover takeout in the fridge and go upstairs without a word. Scott doesn't say anything either.

I curl onto my bed. My life is such a fucking mess lately. It's always been shaky, but at least things were doable. Now I have a headache everyday just from the noise of everything.

My fingers slip through the dried out ends of my lilac hair, clumping up into my roots and twisting. I squeeze hard because there's so much pain thump, thump, thumping in there. Dad, Mom, Scott, and the accident.

I don't know how I'm going to keep fucking doing this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

The metal benches at Beacon Hills High School are freezing my ass. Mom shivers alongside me, and both of us snuggle close for warmth. The kids out on the field are not even wearing jackets. How are they not expected to catch pneumonia?

Mom nudges my side. There's a man around her age that sits on her right side. I remember him as Scott's childhood friend's father. "Halden, do you remember Noah?"

"Yeah. Sheriff Stilinski, right?"

Noah's pale blue eyes asses me — pausing on my vibrant hair, but eventually nods. "Yeah. It's  
been a few years. Nice to see you kiddo. Stiles didn't mention anything about you coming back in town."

"It wasn't planned. I only came back a few days ago."

Mom points at number 11 emerging from the locker rooms. "Can you believe Scott is actually going to be playing this year?"

"Hopefully Stiles will be next. It'll be nice to actually see one of our sons' play this year."

"I'm sure with a little more practice he'll be first line by next year."

Coach Finstock blows a whistle and the team gathers in a huddle before they go out on the field. I remember him being a lunatic. He was my gym teacher my Freshman year of high school — the only year I completed at Beacon Hills before I moved. I ditched his class everyday to get stoned under the bleachers, and he still gave me an A. Said he appreciated that some of us still "lived like they did in the eighties," and gave me a high five. I think he knew my parents were getting a divorce.

The whistle blows and the game starts with an eruption. A red haired girl a few rows up screams bloody murder. I'm thinking of wrapping my hands around her pretty neck. I can't lie for a high school game the pride is kind of inspiring.

Lacrosse is not that difficult to follow — it is pretty similar to hockey, which was one of Jacob's favorite hobbies. The only thing… it's as if Scott's team is purposely not passing him the ball, which is entirely illogical if they want to win. He's open and can totally take it, but they throw it to someone else. The other team takes the ball, again.

"What the hell are they doing?" I ask. Maybe Mom knows of Scott having any bullies on his team. "Why aren't they passing the ball to Scott?"

Mom shrugs. "I don't know."

Near the end of the game Scott manages to get the ball, and he rips the other team a new one. He's jumping over people and doing acrobatic flips (the hell did little bro learn that?) and dodging past other players within seconds of them clipping him. He reels back his arm and let's the ball loose. It breaks the net. Breaks. The. **Net.**

Mom and I jump out of our seats cheering. She wraps me in a hug and we start jumping in place. Noah is clapping proudly beside us. We turn to look for Scott, but he's nowhere on the field.

"Where did he go?" I question.

"Probably the locker room," Mom says. "Let's go wait in the car. It's freezing out here." She pulls Noah into a hug. "It' great to see you, Noah."

"You too, Melissa. Stay safe. Nice to see you again Halden. Will you be sticking around for a while?"

I bite my lip. "Yeah."

Beacon Hills isn't half bad.

The car is not much of an improvement. Mom blasts the heat, but it's a few degrees warmer at best. We huddle over the vents as if it's an open fire.

A few minutes of shivering pass before Scott is shoving himself into the backseat. He's sweaty and out of breath with eyes wide as he buckles himself in.

"You okay little bro?"

He draws out a long exhale. "Yeah. Just ran to the car. Tired."

"Good. I'm really proud of you. You were amazing out there."

He smiles brightly. "Thanks Haldey."

"Scott, when in the hell did you learn to do those flips?" Mom asks.

"I've been practicing…"

"So that's what all that noise has been. I didn't want to ask."

Scott turns bright red. "Mom!"

Mom manages to get out of the crowded parking lot expertly. A warmth grows in the pit of my stomach as I glance in the rearview mirror. Scott is staring out the window with a dimpled grin, fingers tapping softly to the radio. Mom hums along to the song. It's the first time in a long time things feel like they make sense.

* * *

The next morning I'm home alone.

There's a darkness that's been swallowing me for months — probably years. I let it consume so much I don't even feel like myself some days. I just… I don't have anyone anymore.

Under the bed I pull out the shoebox I slipped under on the first day. It doesn't contain much, but they are all I have left of Jacob's things. His parents' wouldn't let me take anything else, and sold all of his belongings to pay off any debt he left after his death. We were not married, so it's not as if I had rights to any of his belongings. There is a musky tee-shirt that smells like marijuana and cheap cologne, and hidden photographs of green and blue skin that I kept just in case.

I deserve this emptiness. The only reason I feel this way is because of me, and who I am. I take one of my pills and grab my keys. I unknowingly drive in the direction of the preserve. Jacob and I lived in a trailer a few towns over, so we were always close to the forest in our neighborhood. There were days we hardly had money to do much else than pay our rent and smoke, and we would take long walks through the dewy forest getting stoned. They were some of the more favorable memories of Jacob. It wasn't Beacon Hills Preserve, but the fall leaves bring a sense of tranquility that I cannot find anywhere else.

I park the car and step into the crisp air. It smells strongly of pine and fallen leaves.

I don't know how long I walk for, but I'm interrupted from the silence by a soft masculine voice.

"What are you doing here?"

My entire body goes rigid. "Please don't rape me!" I yelp. My hands come up to cover my face. I don't bother running, so stoned I can't even fathom doing anything more than hiding my freaking face.

There is no response. Squinting, I peak through my fingertips. I'm standing on the porch of a burnt down house in the middle of the forest. There's a man standing before me in a black leather jacket with a five o'clock shadow. He's devilishly handsome. Olive toned skin that's an odd combination of tan and pale at the same time (how is that logical?) and his raven hair is spiked up in all directions, like he couldn't be bothered to brush it. Or didn't have a brush considering he came out of a burnt down house? Is he homeless? If homeless men look like him then I might think about retiring now. What's the point when you can live in the wild with that?

A deep glare is set on his face and his pale green eyes narrow. "Why are you here?" he repeats slower this time.

I glance around nervously for an escape. We are the only ones here. I don't even know how long I've been walking. The pill makes me lose track of time.

"Ugh… I was just walking. I, um, don't know why I'm here."

His nostrils flare. "Are you Scott McCall's sister?"

I frown. "How do you know Scott?"

And holy shit. It is Derek freaking Hale. This is the Hale house, a dead body was founded on this property this week. And he knows my brother by **name**. But he doesn't know me by name, and we had gym together — rude. Damn… he really did grow into his ears.

"I thought you were in jail." I slap a hand over my mouth.

Derek's scowl deepens. "It was an animal attack. A wolf. I was released."

"So a wolf buried a dead body on your property?"

"Yes."

I blink. "I'm sorry. That's awful."

"Why are you here?" The last word comes out as a growl.

I take a step back and nearly fall down the stairs, but Derek grabs my arm. I nearly fall again at the contact of his warm skin touching my chilled flesh.

"I'm sorry… I'll-I'll go. I just… I said I was walking," I snip. Then I realize I just snapped at an  
alleged murderer (who cares if he claims it was a wolf). "Yeah. I'm going to go. Now."

I try to pull away, but Derek's grip on my arm doesn't waver. I eye him warily.

"I won't hurt you," he says slowly. "I didn't mean to come off so… harsh. This is private property."

"I'll just be going…"

"My name is Derek."

"Um, I-I know."

Derek gives me a practiced smile. It's the kind that dangerous boys give when they are seeking out their prey. Jacob used to give me that same smile. "What's your name?"

"Halden."

"That's a beautiful name."

"I guess…"

"You shouldn't be out in the woods alone," Derek says. His fingertips slide down my arm causing goosebumps.

"I-I know."

"How about I walk you back to your car?"

"It's okay I can-"

He flashes me a grin. "-I insist. It'll worry me not knowing if you made it home alright. There are wolves wondering around."

Apparently I don't have a choice. He shuts the red door behind him and I nervously start down the porch steps and into the thick of the forest. It's awkward and tense. I feel as if any moment Derek might stab me or something crazy. It's not like anyone would hear me scream.

"Your hair is a very interesting color," Derek states.

"I like it." My tone is more defensive than I intend. I glance at him to see a smirk growing on his lips.

"I like it too."

We are quiet again.

"Would you like my jacket?" He doesn't wait for my answer. Sliding his arms out of the black leather, he wraps the jacket around my shoulders. "You're shivering."

"Thanks." I put my arms inside the sleeves grateful. To be honest, it is chilly outside.

My 2004 burgundy Chevy Impala comes into view and I pray to whatever gods are listening that Derek Hale won't slaughter me.

He doesn't.

He holds my door open and waits until I slide into the drivers seat.

"Thanks for walking me," I tell him awkwardly.

Derek smirks. "I'll see you around, Halden."

Then he leaves. I watch him in his black Henley and too tight dark blue jeans (that make his ass look amazing) walk off. My brows furrow and I don't start the car until he is out of sight.

The fuck just happened?

I don't give myself time to think it over. I start the car, go home, and crawl into my bed.

* * *

Later, I lounge around the living room with Netflix. Sprawled on the couch stewing in the high when the front door slams open. Scott nosily makes his presence known with destruction as he kicks off his shoes.

Turning off the TV I stretch my arms high above my head. "Mom already went to sleep. I told her I'd wait up for you."

"You didn't have to do that…"

"Well, if I didn't she would have. She works the mid-shift tomorrow. I wanted her to get some rest. By the way — I made lasagna. Leftovers are in the fridge if you're hungry."

He raises a brow skeptically. "You know how to cook?"

"Yes?"

Scott walks backwards into the kitchen still giving me an expression of wariness. I follow him. He takes out the food and makes himself a plate. Both of us are silent as he heats it up in the microwave.

I sit down at the table across from him and watch him take his first bite. His chocolate eyes grow large. "This is really good."

"Glad you like it."

"When did you learn how to cook? Last thing I remember is you destroying mac and cheese on your last visit."

"I was fourteen." I roll my eyes. "Dad doesn't cook, so I had to learn or live off takeout. Then I moved out with Jacob, and he taught me some of his family recipes."

"I'm sorry about him," Scott mutters, his eyes averting to his food. "Really sorry."

"Yeah. Me too."

I stand from the table and go to my room. I can still feel my high, but I feel edgy and I need something. I grab my prescription for Oxycodone and take one of the pills.

"What's that? What are you taking?"

I jump at Scott's accusing voice. He's hovering in the doorway with a dark glare.

"My pain killers?" I hold out the bottle for him and he swiftly walks in to examine. He pops open the bottle and checks the pills to make sure they match the description. I'm lucky I hid my other pills under the mattress, but I cross my arms irritated either way.

"Why do you have pain killers?"

My finger points to the stitches on my head. "Car accident."

Scott hands them back. He watches me take the pill dry. I put the bottle away and start to get my room ready for much needed rest, while I wait for the painkiller to kick in.

"What's up?" I question as I realize Scott is still hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

"Where did you get that jacket?"

I'm alarmed by the easy going tone switching to panicky so abruptly. My eyes are searching for whatever caused Scott's sudden distress. "What?"

"That-that jacket!" Scott goes over to my desk chair and holds up the leather jacket. "Where did you get this?"

"Oh…"

"Oh? Haldey, what?"

"I was out in the woods this morning taking a walk and I bumped into Derek Hale… He said he was released from jail because the dead body was from an animal attack. He wouldn't let me walk back to my car alone because he said it's dangerous in the forest and he gave me his jacket when he saw I was cold," I told him trying to be chill about the fact that I let a potential (very hot) murderer walk me to his car.

"You have to stay away from him. He is the dangerous thing in the forest!" Scott shrieks.

"Scott I went to school with Derek. He's harmless. It's obviously a sad and misfortunate misunderstanding. Also, it's not like I intend to hang out with him. The guy is weird. All glare-y and then suddenly all smiley. I think he's bipolar. Not that I blame him considering his family…"

"He smiled at you?" he questions angrily.

"Yes."

"You need to stay out of the woods."

"Excuse me?"

"Stay out of the woods! And stay away from Derek Hale. He's a murderer."

"First of all, I had no intention of going anywhere near Derek Hale, but I'll go wherever the hell I want Scott McCall. I'm an adult."

"You're nineteen. You're not an adult. You can't even function without being stoned all the time."

"Get out of my room!"

Scott throws up his hands. "Seriously Hald-"

"Get out!"

My brothers eyes flash a golden hue and I furrow my brows. What the hell? But they are brown now, or always were. I'm probably hallucinating from the drugs.

"I'm exhausted Scott. Get out so I can go to sleep."

"Fine." He turns and stomps out of the room, the door slams shut loudly behind him. I jump at the crackling sound. Spider-like cracks splinter through the wooden frame.

"Shit…" I walk over and finger the edges of the frame. "Is he on steroids or something?"

Suddenly the door swings open once more and I back up before it hits me in the face. Scott is seething, "I'm not on steroids! Unlike you, I know drugs are bad!"

I hold up my hands.

Scott shuts the door much softer this time. I glare at the door as I change into my pajamas and crawl into bed. The pain killers are starting to swarm my vision, everything blurring at the edges. I let myself drift off to sleep.

* * *

Thanks for reviews and comments! I appreciate them all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

With Mom at work and Scott at school I realize I need to start looking for a job. I snooped through Mom's mail, and I know she was tight on bills prior to my arrival, but now she's buying extra food, and I need a job now. I can't put my hard working mother through that struggle.

I braid my hair back to hide my grown out lilac locks, and make sure I wear a bra (first time in weeks). I even add makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes.

The other day Mom mentioned how the downtown area is being invaded by hipsters, so I drive there. With my nose ring and purple hair I might be able to score a job at some record shop. Maybe. Fingers crossed.

That's how I stumble into Sara.

I'm asking the cashier at a used bookstore for an application when a petite manicured hand wraps around my forearm. "Halden McCall. Is that you?" the brunette asks. She's got squared thick black frames that hide sharp aquatic eyes.

"Yeah." I frown. Her smile is predatory, and I remember a fourteen-year-old girl with a tight one piece bathing suit. "You're Sara. We had gym together."

Sara bites her lip. "Yes. We did."

"You dressed a lot different in high school." She was one of the elite theatre kids in high school. Not the nerds. No — these were the kids that were hot and talented, and everyone thought they were going to grow up and be somebody big. Sara was really into journalism, and was head of the yearbook, and it wasn't difficult to recall someone like her.

"Well, that was high school. Although, you dress kinda the same."

"I haven't changed much."

Sara's eyes gleam. "Is that so? You know… I heard you were back in town."

"From who?"

"A friend of a friend."

"That's cool."

She looks down at the application in my hand. "There's a coffee shop on the second floor. Let me buy you a drink. We can play catch up, and you can fill that out at one of the tables."

I follow her to the second floor. She buys me a fancy drink that she claims will "blow my mind." Then we sit at a table near the window so we can look out at the quaint city.

"So, what brought you back to Beacon Hills?"

"I was in an accident… I wanted to be close to family."

"I noticed your stitches. Are you okay?"

"Sometimes I get these headaches, but I'm doing better."

"Well I'm glad to hear that."

"So…" I start to fill out the application. "What have you been up to?"

"I'm going to the community college in town for journalism. I'm an intern at the local newspaper firm. It's fun. I think I'll get a job once I have my degree." She smiles into her drink.

"You always wrote great articles for the school newspaper." Yeah, she was the head of that too.  
"I'm surprised you went to Beacon Community College. I figure you would have a great scholarship. I mean… I only knew you Freshman year, so I'm sorry for making assumptions."

"I did get a scholarship to a few universities, but even with the scholarships I wouldn't be able to afford the schooling. My family doesn't make much money, and I would have had to take out federal loans… I mean, I don't mind. FAFSA pays for all of my tuition and books here, and I can transfer to university after my associates, if I want." Her fingers pick at the chipped table. "I love Beacon Hills. It's a great town. I'm going to have the job I've always wanted. I couldn't ask for more."

I nod.

"Sorry. I just unloaded all that on you. Um, so, what about you? Are you in school?"

"No. I don't think I'm going to."

"Why not?"

"I don't think it's for me."

"How do you figure that?"

"What would I even do?"

"What do you want to do?"

I laugh. "I don't know."

"I'm so sorry. I'm making this so awkward for you. I just… I was really jealous of you in high  
school."

I snort and sip at the drink. While I don't think it's blowing my mind… the coffee is delicious.

"I was. You were this badass fourteen-year-old that took what she wanted without remorse. I was envious. I wanted to be like you."

"My parents were getting a divorce and I was rebelling."

"Well, I still remember you as the girl that didn't take shit from anyone. I just imagined you would be taking life by the hands and bending it at your mercy."

"Who says I'm not?"

"Here I go making assumptions. I'm sorry."

"Maybe you should minor in psychology."

"Speaking of — do you remember Derek Hale?"

"Yep. Definitely remember Derek Hale, but I'm not quite sure how that reminded you of psychologists?"

"He got arrested for the murder of a girl. Who would of thought he was crazy?"

"He was released," I said with a shrug.

"Were you still in Beacon Hills after what happened to his family."

"Yeah."

She purses her lips. "Do you think he could have killed that girl?"

"No."

She raises her brow. "Why not?"

"The Derek Hale I remember was kinda shy and sweet. Definitely not murder material. He kinda kept to himself when he wasn't with his friends, but was a little bit of a douche around them, but not bullying people to death type of kid. But then again… all I really did was stare at his developing abs. That man had a body at sixteen, and those adorable teeth."

"I would have climbed that like a tree."

"I'd still climb that like a tree. Have you seen him?"

Sara shakes her head. "No! When did you see him?"

"I bumped into him. That's how I know he was released."

"If my entire family was burned in a fire I might be crazy enough to murder someone though. You might want to keep your distance. Just until they find the killer."

"Maybe to murder the people that killed your family, but I definitely didn't assist in that. I think he's fine."

"The fire was an accident. Not a murder."

"Was it though?"

Sara grins. "I like you. Maybe you should go into journalism." She takes a sip of her drink, and then her eyes widen. "Oh my. Is that Derek Hale?"

Turning my head I see Derek standing in one of the aisles flipping through a book. He's sans leather jacket since it is still sitting on the chair in my room, and thankfully I can see those biceps from over here. Nice.

"Yep," I say.

"I know what you mean about climbing that like a tree. Wow."

"He really grew into his ears."

"Remember those swim shorts he used to wear?"

"The only reason I occasionally came to class."

"You were hardly there. How did you pass?"

"Coach Finstock is a humble man."

"And a lunatic. He quit drinking though. He's been sober for a few years now."

"I didn't know he was a drunk."

Sara places her chin in her hand. "Derek was really nice though. We weren't friends, but we had a lot of mutual friends, and we had a few classes together. He never raised his hand, but whenever he was called on he knew the answers. I guess you're right though. There's no way he could have murdered that girl… I just can't picture him doing that."

"I think he's seen some shit, and he's just trying to understand his purpose."

"His purpose?"

"You know… what makes you happy. Like my mom loves being a nurse, my brother loves his girlfriend, and you like journalism. He's probably trying to find out what that is. Maybe he's here for closure."

"And what's your purpose? Are you here for closure?"

"God. You're such a stereotypical journalist."

"Sorry…" she bites her lip. "I've always been really nosey."

"I think I might be really nosey too."

"So. Your purpose?"

I roll my eyes, but find her company rather amusing more than irritating. "I guess I'm looking for mine too."

When we finish our drinks Derek is nowhere in sight. Sara gives me her number and tells me she'd like to get together again soon, and I turn my application in to the hipster behind the counter.

* * *

The next day I take the stupid leather jacket Derek Hale gave me and go into the forest. It's warmer outside today, but I brought my gray fleece to insure there'd be no other excuse for me to keep his precious clothing. And I brought a pocket knife. There. I prepared myself. Regardless of the conversation I had with Sara I won't be that random woman murdered in the forest. What if someone else is out here other than Derek? Like the actual murderer.

I trek through the woods until I approach the Hale house. Is he really living here? If so, why in the hell would he? Maybe he really is homeless.

"Hello!" I call out as I carefully creep up the porch steps. "Derek?"

The red door swings open. Derek is in a white teeshirt and a different pair of form fitting dark jeans. I bit my lip, and his pale eyes linger as I lick them nervously.

"I brought your jacket back," I tell him. I hold out the leather and he grabs it. I ignore the way his triceps tense at the action.

"I thought I said it's dangerous out here," he says.

"I'm prepared."

He smiles. "Good. I'd hate for anything bad to happen to you."

I should leave now, but I'm curious. He's weird and creepy and somehow is involved with my younger brother. Also, who doesn't know the fucked up shit their old high school classmates get into? That's enough reason to stay and snoop. I really should just stick to Facebook.

"Are you living here?"

Derek narrows his eyes, but keeps the smile on his lips. "For right now."

That's weird, but I remember some of my high school friends and I slept at an abandoned park for a few weeks when we ran away from home, so I can't judge him too harshly. "How do you know Scott?"

"We are friends."

I laugh. "Friends? He got you arrested. My brother warned me to stay away from you. Doesn't sound like "friends" to me."

Derek takes a step closer to me. I want to step back, but I remember the last time I did that I almost fell. I stand grounded and glare up at him.

"Why are you here?" he questions softly.

"What?"

"If he told you to stay away, then why are you here?"

I motion to the leather jacket. "To give you your jacket back…"

"If I thought someone was a murderer then I wouldn't go out of my way to be alone with them in the middle of the forest," Derek chuckles.

"Are you a drug dealer?"

He runs a hand threw his hair. "No."

"Damn," I mutter, because if he sold drugs then I could buy some. But I have to abandon those thoughts. I want to get clean for Scott and Mom. It's a great thing Scott isn't taking drugs. "Are you sure? I think Scott might be on steroids,"

"Scott's not on steroids…" He pauses and lifts a thick brow. "Why do you think he is?"

I eye him cautiously. "I shouldn't even be talking to you."

"No one said you had to," he points out.

"Scott and I fought about… personal stuff the other night. He got mad and slammed my bedroom door, and the frame cracked."

"I could do that," Derek tells me with a grin. I see his arm flex.

"Well, you're really muscular. That's a given. My little brother? Maybe… but he just… it was weird. Then I thought I saw his eyes changing color, but I was on some heavy painkillers last night so I was probably just hallucinating."

Derek frowns. "What happened to your head?"

I touch the stitches and wince. "Car accident."

"Is that all?"

I glare. "What?"

"Just a car accident? Nothing else?"

"No. Nothing else."

He gives me a look as if he doesn't believe me.

"It's none of your business!"

"No, it's not."

"Why are you asking anyway? That's rude."

Derek rolls his eyes, but laughs under his breath. "You asked me if I was living here. Isn't that a little rude?"

"Ugh. No. Not when you're involved with my baby brother."

"It was my sister."

My nose scrunches at the sudden statement. "What?"

"The body Scott and Stiles found. It was my sister. I came here looking for her."

I stare at him with wide eyes.

"She said she was visiting some old friends… and I have some bad memories here…" He glances back at the charred remains of his family home. "I didn't go with her. When she didn't come home on the day her flight was scheduled I called her, and she didn't answer. I knew something was wrong. Laura always called and we… she always calls. So, I came here to look for her."

My hand goes to my mouth. What do you say to that?

"I'm not a murderer or a drug dealer… I just wanted to find my sister."

"Why do you think she was out here?" I ask.

Derek purses his lips. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Do you think it really was a wolf? I didn't think there were any wolves in California."

"There's not."

I decide to give him a hug. He doesn't hug me back, his arms are extend awkwardly at his side, but he doesn't push me away. I pull back a moment later and wipe my eyes.

"I'm… I-I don't know what I would do if something like that happened to Scott."

"You're a good sister." Derek's green eyes meet mine in a stern stare. "Stay out of the woods."

I shake my head. "No. I'm a terrible sister."

"If you were so terrible you wouldn't be out here trying to figure out how to help your brother," Derek says with a grin.

"No! I went out here because Scott told me not to talk to you. I deliberately ignored him."  
Derek shrugs.

"Okay. Okay… Okay," I repeat, I run a hand through my lilac strands. "I should go? Yeah. I should go." I nod my head firmly to reinforce my decision.

"Let me walk you back to your car."

I remind myself I'm supposed to tell him no, but I don't think Derek is bad. Even if he is a murder suspect. Not all people with jail time are bad people. Plus, it'd be hypocritical of me to judge him considering I am a convicted felon.

Derek and I are silent for a bit. I'm nervously fidgeting with my hands.

"What do you want to say?" Derek asks and I nearly jump out of my skin at the suddenness of his voice.

"How do you know I have something to say?"

He smirks. "I can just tell. I'm very perceptive."

My car comes into view and I feel relief. Derek holds the door open for me and I turn to face him. We are very close — his chest almost pressed against mine. I stare up at him and I can feel his warm breath brushing across my cold nose.

"I just wanted to say…" my eyes linger on his lips and I catch sight of his buck teeth, which are oddly adorable on his masculine body. "That… if you ever need anyone, you can talk to me. I-I know what it's like to be alone. I'd hate for someone else to feel the way too."

Derek frowns at me. I slide into the car deciding to let him think over what I said. It doesn't actually dignify a response. He closes the door sticking his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket, and I drive off. In my rearview mirror I see the strange man watching my car until I'm out view.

* * *

Scott is waiting in my room when I get home. Lying on my bed with his arm thrown over his eyes like he's been there for awhile. He sniffs the air as I throw my purse next to his head and cracks a squinted eye.

"Where have you been?" he asks.

"I went downtown to apply for some jobs."

"How'd that go?" He sits up and pushes his back against the headboard.

"Okay I guess. It doesn't really look like anyone is hiring, but at least I put myself out there. I also bumped into one of my old classmates Sara."

"I don't know who that is."

"I hardly do either. We talked in gym when I occasionally went to class, and I convinced her to get high with my friends a couple times."

"Oh. Sounds fun?"

I smile. "It's always fun when the good girls go bad. What do you want?"

"I was wondering… well, since Mom is going to have the car tomorrow night. Do you think you can drive and pick me up from the bowling alley?"

"Sure."

"Thanks," he says with an easy smile.

"Anything else I can assist you with?"

He tilts his head. "Nope."

"Well I'm going to take a nap." I flop down on the bed alongside him.

Scott snorts and rolls out of the bed, and I manage to slip into a dreamless daze.

* * *

Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to keep my updates on Saturday's! Got swamped with homework. Let me know what you think of this new character Sara.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

"Come on Haldey!"

I roll my eyes at Scott's whining. His head smacks against my closed door as I slide a maroon hoodie over my white tank.

"Such a cry baby," I tell him as I swing open the door. He almost crashes his skull into mine as he was about to smack his head back down, _hard_. My hand reaches out in time to press against his forehead. "God. Calm your shit. I'm ready. Let's go."

Scott races down the stairs and slide on his shoes. I pull on my high tops tying them slowly as he bounces in his spot in front of the door.

"You're such a freaking puppy."

His eyes go big.

The drive to the bowling alley consists of Scott telling me about Allison. Like… _all about Allison._

"— and her eyes are big and brown and beautiful—"

"Well. That's great. She sounds pretty," I say after he describes her luscious brown hair, her tall slender frame, and the single dimple in her cheek when she smiles. I feel like I might be in love with her… I should be considering I know _every freaking freckle_ she has after five minutes of being in the car with this lovestruck dweeb.

"She's beautiful," he corrects me.

"Baby bro has his first girlfriend. How sweet."

"Shut up Haldey."

"Whatever. No hanky panky in the bowling alley. That's gross. They definitely don't clean that place. Save it for Mom's car or a bedroom."

Scott splutters. "Ew. Stop talking."

"Are you twelve?"

He groans. "I don't want to talk about sex with my sister."

Fine, fine. Do you have condoms?"

" _Ugh_."

"Here." I reach into my purse and pull out a condom and throw it at him. He holds it up with a look of disgust.

"You just carry these around with you?"

"No." _Yes_. "Just take it you little shit."

Scott stuffs it into his back pocket begrudgingly. I park outside the bowling alley and he scrambles out of the car. I roll down the window and shout, "Call me when you need me to pick you up like ten minutes before. I can't predict the future. Yet."

He waves me off.

* * *

I head to the gas station to buy a few cigarillo's to roll my weed. I used the last one the other night Mom and Scott were both gone the entire day, and I figure why the hell not again tonight? It's chilly, but I will park someplace and smoke one while I wait to pick up Scott. I don't really like doing it near the house anyway. Incase Mom or Scott smell it.

I browse through the snack aisle: cheddar ringed chips and chocolate peanut butter cups are for my munchies. The man behind the counter asks for my I.D. and I tug it out, and he gives me three packages of the .99 cent cigars (mint).

Carrying the bag over to my Chevy I frown as I see a few men cornering a single man at the gas pump. He is wearing an oddly familiar leather jacket and has messy raven hair… I groan.

Fucking Derek Hale.

Does this guy have trouble tattooed on his forehead? Seriously.

They don't notice as I walk cautiously over to my car. I hear the end of the man's speech — who is freakishly cleaning Derek's windows — something along the lines of, "-That's something I learned from my family. And you don't have much of that these days. Do you? There we go. You can actually look through your windshield now. See how that makes everything so much clearer?"

That is just rude. Derek's family died on a fire, that's definitely not okay to mock. And his sister just died. Wait… Derek agreed there were no wolves in California. This means that someone had to murder her… Oh. Oh… _**Oh**_

Derek's shoulders are tight and he snaps, "You forgot to check the oil," as the other guys are moving back to their cars.

The man nudges his chin to one of the men on the other side of Derek's car. "Check the man's oil."

Said man smashes Derek's driver window in with the butt of a _gun_.

"That doesn't look like where you check the oil!" I yell. I clamp a hand over my mouth when they turn towards me. _Murderers, Halden._

I'm tempted to run, but am shaking too much to move. Are these the guys that murdered his sister? What if they decide to kill me? Is Derek in a gang? Maybe he really is a drug dealer and he didn't want to be caught? Holy shit, I'm going to die.

The man glares. "You should leave."

"I think you should leave. I called the cops," I say.

He glowers. "For your own safety kid stay away from him and mind your own business. Let's go!" All the men start to head back to their cars. He throws a smirk at Derek over his shoulder. "We will be around. Drive safely."

They drive off. I don't move until their headlights are out view. I sprint over to Derek who is glaring at his car like it's the route of all his problems.

"You okay?"

Derek faces me. "Yeah… You shouldn't have done that."

I shrug. "I wasn't going to let them hurt you."

"You lied though. You didn't call the cops," he says.

"No. I didn't."

He steps around his car to look at the busted window. Running a hand through his hair he remorsefully utters, "Shit…"

"I'm assuming this car is your love child."

He blows out a sharp breath.

"You should invest in bulletproof glass if things like that are going to happen often."

Derek ignores my comment and opens the door to start dusting the glass off his seat.

"What the hell are you doing? You're going to cut yourself."

I strip off my sweater and come over to his side. I bunch up the fabric and use that to dust off the seat. He's watches silently until I finish, brows drawn in as he scans my nearly visible torso. I glance down at the white tank and fold my arms over my chest when I realize my hard nipples are entirely visible through the sheer fabric.

"Hey!" I smack his arm and Derek doesn't appear the least bit shameful at catching an eyeful of my chest.

"What are you doing out so late?"

I raise a brow at the random question. "I'm an adult?"

"Are you?"

I throw my hands up. "Obviously!"

His eyes go down to my chest once more and I groan, covering them with crossed arms.

"Pervert."

"Why are you here?"

"Do you ever ask anything else? Or is that your go to question?"

He just stares at me.

"I was getting some stuff at the gas station."

"What stuff?"

"Is it any of your business?"

He shrugs. "No."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Why do you ask the questions you ask?"

"Because I'm curious and nosey."

"Well, maybe I am too."

"I can tell." I sigh. "I'm waiting for Scott. So, I decided I would go buy some cigars to roll joints and smoke one while I wait for him to finish hanging out with this pretty girl named Allison."

"You smoke weed?"

"Do you?"

He slowly shakes his head. "No… I've never smoked before… I mean, I smoked a cigarette in high school, but I was fourteen."

"Really? You've got the whole leather jacket persona going on and you've never had some Mary Jane? What's wrong with ya, James Dean?"

Derek scowls. "I doubt it'll do anything for me."

"How would you know? You've never tried it."

"Maybe I don't want to."

"Then that's all you have to say. Peer pressure is not my thing… Trust me."

Derek shifts beside me. I step aside so he can get into the drivers seat. He hesitantly moves into the car and pauses to eye me carefully.

I smile. "Do you want to try it?"

"What?"

"Do you want to try it?" I hold up my lips to imitate smoking a joint.

He scratches his jaw.

"You're acting like you want to… so if you do follow me."

I turn back to my car and pull out of the gas station. I'm not surprised to see the black Camaro's headlights tail after me. I take us to a secluded part of the preserve and park my car. Derek stops beside me. I unlock the passenger seat and he slides in with a bit of difficulty, he has to adjust the passenger seat since he's taller than anyone that usually sits there (even Scott).

Derek's nostrils flare as he catches a whiff of the green bud I take out of my purse. I smile at him comfortingly. He picks up the purple grinder and inspects it. I'm in the process of emptying the tobacco from the cigar to use the paper while he nosily pokes around.

"So. What's this supposed to do?"

I take the bud out of the bag and put it in the grinder. I close the lid and twist it until the weed becomes a finer consistency. "Well, being high feels very calming and chill. Everything sounds better, tastes better, feels better, looks better."

"Is it like being drunk?"

"No, definitely not. This is better."

"Why?"

"It depends on the person… for me it's kinda like floating in the clouds on a beautiful fall day with a nice breeze."

He eyes me skeptically.

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. "I remember you from high school."

"We went to high school together?"

"My Freshman year. You were two grades above me, but we had gym together."

"I remember you."

"Really? That's surprising."

"Why is that?"

"We didn't talk, and I didn't hang out with your crowd."

He snorts. "And what was my crowd?"

"The jocks."

"And what were you?"

"A stoner." I hold the blunt to my lips. "Do you want me to go first to show you what you need to do?" I ask.

Derek nods slowly.

Taking my lighter the fire catches the tip and I inhale as much as I can, then I hold it in until I need to breathe. I release the smoke through my nose until it's all gone.

"Don't hold it in too long. It's actually a myth that you get more stoned the longer you hold it in. The only thing it does is hurt your lungs."

The tip burn red as he inhales. His eyes flutter shut as he holds it in, then he's suddenly coughing harshly.

I pat his back. "Don't worry. That means it's getting to the right spot."

Derek hands back the blunt and continues to cough into the sleeve of his leather jacket. I take another long drag. My hand reaches out to turn some music softly in the background. I hold out the blunt and Derek daringly goes in for more. The both of us pass it around until it's all gone, and my head is high, high, _high_ in the clouds.

"Feel it?" I ask.

Derek blinks bloodshot eyes. "I think so. I've never felt anything before. Except that one time… that one time…" he squints. "I'm not supposed to tell you about that one time. But it definitely feels kinda like that one time, except I'm not dying… I mean, not that I almost died before. What am I even saying?"

I snort. "So, Mr. Mysterious what's your favorite color?"

Derek laughs. It's not the usual laugh he gives. It's that ' _I'm really high_ ' laugh. His dimples show, and I'm amazed that I hadn't realized before how beautiful his smile is. I mean I remember thinking Derek was hot back in high school in that stereotypical jock way, but I'd never really seen how _he_ is.

"You want to know my favorite color?"

Why else would I ask?"

"Green. What's yours?"

"Purple."

He playfully tugs on a strand of my lilac hair. "I couldn't tell."

The strand bounces as he abandons it to trail his knuckles down my cheek. His skin is shockingly smooth. I kinda expected a guy in leather to have rough hands. He cups my cheek thumb rubbing under my eye.

I smile at him. "You're much too gentle for a man in leather."

Then his lips are pressed along mine. Hand sliding up my neck to wrap around the base of my skull. He's so gentle.

I pull away from the kiss and crawl over the centerpiece into the backseat. I urge him with a single finger to follow. Derek smirks and attempts climbing over the center — he's a lot bigger and ends up getting stuck, we both laugh. I grasp the collar of his shirt tugging until he falls atop me. We kiss again. His hands slide under my shirt and he doesn't hesitate to cup my breasts, so I don't hesitate to start shoving the jacket off his shoulders.

Derek sits up and strips off his shirt, then tugs my tank over my head. He dips down to catch my nipple with his lips and sucks. Bites onto the metal piercing — my back arches.

He positions us so that I'm in his lap, and my mouth latches on his neck as I laugh into his skin at the moan he lets free. I nip at his shoulder. His grabs at my ass through my yoga pants and grinds his jean-clad erection along me.

"Fuck." I moan, hips grinding down hard against his. The feeling of his zipper on my clit through my underwear, and it's not enough. He pushes off the rest of our clothes and slips his fingers into my mouth. I suck on them with a wicked smile. Derek groans, and trails the wet fingertips between my parted legs. His thumb rubs at the wetness leaking from my vagina. He pushes his middle finger inside and another follows swiftly. I grind down onto his hand — I feel his cock bobbing against my inner thigh, with my chest is pressed tight against his.

He's scissoring his fingers inside of me. Thick thumb rubbing against my nub. Fuck, and it feels amazing. My fingers tangle into the dark hair atop his head, and I tilt his head back against the seat so I can devour his neck. Derek definitely has a neck kink from the heavy moans escaping him.

Derek slips his fingers out. His knuckles rub against my thigh as he starts to stroke his cock, coating it with my wetness.

"Can I fuck you?" he asks, and positions the head of his cock against my entrance, but hesitates on pushing in.

I sink down onto his cock.

Derek moans as his fingers dig into my hips. His eyes squeeze shut, and he slams his head against the seat. Once he's fully inside I stay there for a moment as I adjust to the size of his length. His cock is the perfect size — pushing hot against my walls, but not too large where there would be pain.

He thrusts his hips up experimenting, and I claw at his shoulder. The thrusts become deeper and I meet every one by grinding down hard on his cock — the coarse hair surrounding him rubbing against my clit, while his sac slaps against my ass.

"Fuck," he growls in my ear. His teeth nibbling on a sensitive spot on my collarbone. His thrusts grow more erratic and I can tell he's close to his release.

My body is drenched in sweat, and I rest my head onto his shoulder when it becomes too much to hold up. I grab at his shoulders tight and he presses his nose into my neck — lips placing sweet kisses around the exposed skin.

Then I'm in bliss, and my body tightens with my release. Derek tenses below me. He quickly lifts my body off him and his cum sprays against my inner thighs. His eyes squeeze shut and he let's out a groan.

I look down at his softening cock and grin. "You're uncircumcised."

Derek laughs breathlessly. "Yeah. And you have your nipples pierced."

I gaze down at my bare chest to the two bars through both nipples.

"You don't like them?"

His green eyes stay locked on mine as he licks at the metal bars teasingly. I shiver.

We both slide back into our clothes and I roll down the windows to air out the scent of weed and sex. Both of us sit close together in the backseat as we ride out the rest of our high.

"I should go," Derek tells me.

"Sure."

"I'll see you around."

I shrug. "Yeah, sure."

He frowns. "You don't sound so sure."

"Guys like you don't usually stick around for long."

"Guys like me?"  
"The kind that wears leather jacket and guys busting open your windows."

"Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and happen to be fashionable wearing a leather jacket?"

A laugh escapes me. "You do look pretty good in that leather jacket."

"I'll see you around," he promises. He presses a swift, deep kiss on my lips.

As soon as the car door shuts I dig through my purse and spray the shit out of my car with perfume. Scott calls a few minutes later. I spray the car one more time. Then I drive to pick him up.

* * *

Scott and I arrive home after dropping off Allison. The entire drive he was waxing poetry about her soft skin and perfectly arched eyebrows, that's all I got out of it anyway. All happiness evaporates when Mom's scream echoes from the front door.

Scott is gone in the blink of an eye.

I dart up after. Mom is in her robe with tight curls in disarray from sleep, while holding a wooden bat in her hand. There is a kid around Scott's age crouching on his bed with a hand held out in defense.

"Can you please tell your friend to use the front door?" Mom all but begs as she drops the bat in the corner of Scott's room.

"But we lock the front door. He wouldn't be able to get in," Scott whines. Said kid throws his hands out in a ' _he get's me_ ' motion.

"Yeah, exactly." Mom meets my stare with a lock of disbelief. Then she rounds back on the two teenagers. "Do either of you care that there is a police-enforced curfew?"

Both say, "No."

Mom sighs. "What about last night, Scott? You weren't home before curfew."

"I was busy!"

"You know what? I'm done." She throws up her hands and leaves the room in a huff, but not before pressing a swift kiss to my cheek. "Night."

The teens wide amber eyes blink at me curiously. It takes me a moment to recall this as Scott's best friend from childhood. I couldn't forget those big doe eyes if I tried. It's hard to forget someone so… loquacious. "Hey Mischief."

His mouth curls upward. "I go by Stiles now."

"Like Harry Styles?"

Stiles gives me a dead stare.

"Don't let him fool you. One Direction is his hidden obsession," Scott says through a snicker. His friend punches my brother hard, but ends up caressing his own hand with a curse.

"Well, I'll let you guys hang or whatever teenagers do these days-"

"Haldey. You're still a teenager for, like, another year," Scott points out.

"Whatever, Shrimp. Have fun."

* * *

I lay on my bed for awhile staring at the ceiling. Smiling I think about Derek and our sex. The feeling of his skin against mine, and how gentle he was even if he knew he didn't have to be. No one has ever been so gentle with me before. I wonder if we will see each other again… we really shouldn't considering _everything_.

How is he supposed to apparently see me again anyway? He didn't even ask for my number. He probably didn't want to disappoint the lousy fuck. Pretending he plans to see me again so he wouldn't have to see me upset.

I rub my hands over my face. _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckswear_ they look like two balls of glowing fire. I slam the door behind me and lock it. For good measure I push three of the kitchen chairs in front of it.  
"Take that, bitch." I feel victorious with my makeshift barrier. I don't see anyone in the backyard when I peer through the glass. I huff. "Stupid raccoons."

"Haldey?"

"Holy fucking shit!" I scream. I smack a muscled arm that belongs to my younger brother. "Scott McCall! What in the _hell_ do you think you are doing?"

He holds up his hands sheepishly. "Sorry. What were you doing outside?"

"Just hanging out."

Scott purses his lips. "You smell like weed."

"I might have been smoking pot."

He rolls his eyes.

"What were _you_ doing outside?"

"I had some things to take care of."

"Oh yeah? What's so important for a sixteen-year-old boy to do outside this late on a school night?"

" _Nothing_."

"You said there were things you were taking care of."

Scott breathes deeply. "Whatever. You're just high, go to bed."

"Fuck you. I should tell Mom you were outside this late."

"And I should tell Mom you're getting high in the back yard!"

"Whatever! Just go to bed. Fucking asshole."

"I'm the asshole?" Scott laughs sarcastically. "That's great. I see Dad rubbed off on you over the years."

The palm of my hand connects with Scott's cheek before I can stop myself.  
The smack is harder than I intend, but softer than I wish. And something I shouldn't have done to begin with. Scott's gaping at me. I know it didn't hurt him physically, but the meaning behind the action always hurts worse.

"Scott…" I want to apologize, but I can't think of any words good enough. "You don't know _half_ the shit you're talking about. You-you have no idea what I've been through with him, with Jacob. You…" _wouldn't understand. Wouldn't look at me the same way again. Would see how weak I really am._

I dart around him and into my bedroom. The tears come quickly, but I wipe them away. I climb under the covers of my bed and let the nightmares consume me. They are what I deserve.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"Hey sweetie."

I blink open my eyes to stare up at my mom. She's smoothing my hair back from my forehead with a worried frown.

"Sup?"

"You've been inside for a few days. Why don't you go out?"

"Go out where?"

She shrugs. "The mall?"

I laugh. I don't have any money. "I'm okay."

"Want me to call off work? I'll call off. I'll tell them it's a family emergency and that-"

I cut her off with a grin. "-I actually have plans today."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. I met a friend."

"What's their name?"

Shit. "Derek." Shit. Why did I do that?

"Derek, huh?"

"Yeah, um… Derek… Smith? Derek Smith. He's very nice."

"You should invite him over sometime."

I wave her off with a sheepish grin. "He works a lot of odd hours…"

"Is he a potential boyfriend?"

I snort. "Not likely."

Mom laughs at my response. "Okay. Well. Be careful."

"Don't worry Mom. I've got condoms."

She places a hand to her forehead. "Oh god. Oh no. I changed my mind. Stay inside."

"I'm kidding…"

"Yeah," she laughs in disbelief. "Okay. Whatever you say."

"I love you Mom."

"I love you too."

"Tonight is Scott's parent teacher conference," Mom says as she stands up from the bed. "It's at seven. I work until five. If for some reason I'm held up do you think you can sub in for me?"

"Ugh, sure?"

She laughs. "Thanks. I'll call and let you know. Have fun with Derek."

I can stay home if I really want to. It's not as if Mom will know if I hang out with my alleged friend. But I'm sick of being stuck inside these walls.

I slide on clean faded jeans, a gray baggy sweater that drooped off one shoulder, and my beat up high tops. Popping a pill and rolling a joint, I head off to the preserve. There's no one else I know in Beacon Hills other than Derek, and I'm sure if sex is on the table he might not mind me showing up unexpectedly. Because let's be honest if Derek doesn't find me showing up creepy or clingy then sex is definitely on the table.

The trek to his house is wet and muddy. I glare as it coats my converse. Not like they aren't already in rough shape, but they are still my favorite.

I hop up the porch steps and raise a fist to knock, the red door swings open. I'm confronted with a shirtless, sweaty, muscular (mouth watering) Derek. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead and over his throat.

Oh god.

He smirks, eyes staring down at me.

"Hey," I greet with a nervous smile.

Derek mimics, "Hey."

"I don't know why I'm here."

He chuckles. "Why am I not surprised?" Then he holds open the door. "Come on in."

Carefully I step inside. The interior is mostly vacant… unless dust is considered furniture.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Derek runs a hand over his face to wipe away the sweat. He eyes me expectantly. "You're going to anyway."

I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing at the momentary irritation he lets shine through. "Why are you staying here? Why not a motel or something?"

"I wasn't planning on staying long."

"But you clearly are staying longer than intended."

"Does it bother you that I'm living here?" he asks.

"No… but… if things ever get bad. Like the weather, or something, you can sneak into my room."

Derek raises a brow. "You're offering to harbor a murderer in your bedroom?"

"Accused," I correct him. "Mom and Scott are never home anyway. It's not like they would notice."

He takes a few steps towards me. "I might take you up on that offer sometime."

I watch the shine of his chest mesmerized. "Please do."

Derek's lips are on mine. His large hands squeeze at my ass to lift me, my legs wrap around his waist. My nails dig into his shoulder, and even as his tongue explores my mouth it isn't rough, but it's not as gentle as before. I'm about to grind my pelvis along his when he abruptly shoves me off carefully. I run a hand through my hair nervously as I watch Derek narrow his eyes toward the front door.

He lowers himself to peer into my eyes tightly. "I need you to run out the back door and keep running. I'll catch up to you. Do not turn around, do not stop."

"Wh-"

"Now." He pushes me in the direction of the back of the house. "I'll hold them off, run Halden."

"Hold who off?"

" **Go**."

I do as Derek says. I'm not running really fast because I'm confused. I keep it a light jog as I continue to glance back at the burnt out shell of a house.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The recognizable sound of bullets increases my pace. A part of me wants to turn around and run back to check on Derek, but he told me to keep on running.

I can call the cops while I run? I glance at my phone. I have no reception to call the cops.

I decide to run a bit farther and hide behind a tree. If he doesn't come within the next ten minutes I'm going back for him.

My stomach tightens. How long has it been? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty?  
I check my phone. One minute.

Shit.

The sound of approaching footsteps has my heart rapidly thumping in my chest. I peer from behind the tree and see a half-naked man sprinting. Derek was topless.

He almost runs past me, but halts himself a few feet away.

"I thought I told you not to stop running," he snaps. His eyes are a sparkling blue, but they aren't? They are grayish green and narrowing at me angrily.

"I wasn't going to leave you back there."

Derek stresses between heavy pants, "It's not safe here. We need to go."

"Where?"

He runs a hand through his damp hair, his green eyes searching. "I don't know."

There are red welts on his chest. They appear as if someone burned him with a long stick.

"Holy shit." My shaky hand skims over the exposed skin. "What the hell did they do to you?"

"Don't worry about it. It just stings. It'll be fine in a few minutes."

"A few minutes?" I ask skeptically.

Derek's tone is irritable as he draws out, "Yes."

"Come on." I take his hand and drag him in the direction of my Chevy.

Derek follows without question. We buckle ourselves in and are silent the fifteen minute drive to my house.

I park the car against the curb, but make no move to exit. "Can you answer me a few questions honestly?"

Derek stares at the two-story house with a grimace. He nods.

"Is Scott in trouble?"

"Yes."

My eyes shut slowly, and my fingers twist around the wheel. "It's not a gang or drugs, right?"

"No."

"Is there anything I can do to help him? To help you?"

"Yes." Then he says, "Stop going out into the woods alone."

I roll my eyes and get out of the car. That doesn't deserve a response.

Derek follows me upstairs and I lead him into my room, and then leave to grab a baggy shirt and sweatpants from Scott's room. When I come bag I find him snooping through my belongings — rude.

"Didn't peg you for a Hello Kitty fan," Derek drawls. He tugs the shirt over his head, and his welt-less chest disappears before my very eyes.

My eyes glance at the Hello Kitty piggy-bank on my desk. "This is my childhood room. I haven't been here in years, until a few weeks ago."

"Sure," he teases.

"Those… those people shot at you?" I ask, even if my ears are still ringing from the frightening sound.

"Yeah they did."

"Are there people after Scott?"

Derek shakes his head. "I don't think so. I'm still not sure who they are, or what they want."

"Think those are the guys that killed your sister?"

He stares down at his hands. "I don't know."

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

Derek lies on the bed blinking tiredly up at the ceiling. "Kinda."

"There might be some leftover lasagna. Unless Scott ate it. If not, I'll figure something out. Just wait here, and if you hear anyone coming hide in my closet."

I return with a hot plate of microwaved lasagna and a fork. Derek is snoozing on top of the quilt, I'm enraptured by his everything. His messy raven hair, pointed nose, sculptured cheekbones and jaw. Derek is perfect. Maybe not mentally and emotionally, someone as fucked up as myself can see that train wreck a mile away, but physically… the man is ideal.

"Derekkkk," I sing his name. He groans and rubs his face into my pillow. "I've got food."  
He opens his eyes. I set the plate on my desk and motion for him to eat.

Derek scoots off the bed and plops in the desk chair. He asks between bites, "You're not hungry?"

"No. I ate earlier today."

He frowns. "I'm not that hungry. Want to split it?"

"No, no. Eat it. If I get hungry there's more in the fridge."

Derek shoves a few more bites into his mouth and pushes the plate towards me. "Eat."

I appease him by finishing off the rest of the plate. He flops back on my bed and I roll my eyes when I see his shoes. I take them off for him and toss them somewhere on the floor.

I slip under the covers and lift them for Derek. He slides under. There's an awkward space between us. Do we cuddle? Just sleep? I don't know what to do. Derek doesn't appear to either. He appears even more uncomfortable than me, which makes me even more uncomfortable.

So I kiss him, because that's something I know how to do. He kisses back.

Then we are quickly discarding the rest of our clothes. It's a mess of tangled limbs and almost punching each other in the face, but we manage to get naked.

Thankfully Mom and Scott aren't home.

Derek is inside of me, thrusting. My legs wrap around his hips, and he's panting harsh breaths in my ear. He's mouthing at this sensitive spot on my shoulder and it's making my head spin. My nails run down his back and he moans as his teeth scrape my skin.

He pulls out before his release and pumps his cock, spills his cum onto my stomach. There's a momentary thought of grossness, I know that's going to get sticky and clump on my skin, but then his hand unwraps his cock and three fingers are shoved inside of me.

He's pumping while his thumb is rubbing circles on my clit, and I can't even form words, let alone coherent thoughts.

"Holy shit," I gasp, my hands fist at my hair. "Derek!"

And Derek doesn't have a long recovery time. His cock is already hard the tip dripping with pre-cum. He removes his hand and he's slipping back inside of me with a hard thrust. Derek's chest is fitted against mine. We move together slick with our sweat and his seed, he doesn't seem to mind.  
He dips his head down to suck my hard nipple between his teeth. I gasp as his teeth catch the medal of the piercing, the cold sensation mixing with his hot saliva twirling around the sensitive skin.

I feel myself drawing closer and I'm struggling to push my hips upwards to meet his thrusts. His pelvis rubs against my clit, and oh god it feels wonderful. A few more hard thrusts and my toes to curl, there's a cry spilling from my lips. My core tightens around Derek's cock, and his hips stutter in response as the sensation is almost too much.

Derek pulls out again and cums on my thighs. I don't even care anymore.

Well, definitely a lot less gentle than before. But there's something about the way Derek's body curls around mine that makes everything feel so intimate. Maybe it's all in my head.

He slides his hand through the sticky cum on my stomach. He's so weird.

"I'm going to shower," I tell him. "I'd ask you to join me, but…" my eyes find the clock and it reads 5:03 P.M. "Mom should be home within the next few minutes. Remember, hide in the closet. I don't want to explain why I'm harboring an accused murderer."

"Why are you?" he questions quickly. His eyes are brighter green than usual, and I forget for a second I'm supposed to answer his question by the beauty of them.

"What?"

"Why are you helping me?"

Why am I helping him?

"I don't think you killed your sister," I say. "And I don't know what you're involved in, but I'd be the hugest hypocrite in the world to judge someone for going through a rough time."

Derek appears to accept this. He averts his gaze to my ceiling.

In the shower I scrub myself down quickly. It usually only takes Mom ten to fifteen minutes to get home, sometimes longer if there's bad traffic.

When I'm finished Derek is asleep on the bed. I decide to leave him for now.

Finding my purse I reach for the bottle of pain killers. I take one out and move to put it in my mouth, but a hand stops me from doing so. I face Derek with a raised brow.

"What are you doing?" he asks. "What is that?"

"Oxycodone. It's a pain killer."

His brows pinch together. "Why are you taking it?"

I point to my forehead. "Stitches."

"You don't seem to be in pain."

"How would you know?"

Derek sits up on the bed. He tugs me forward so that I'm sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. "You don't need them," he tells me. "I can make you feel better."

With a sigh I put the pill back in the bottle and drop my purse down to the floor. I grimace at his dirty chest, but he just smirks and I forget that I'm disgusted. He brings me into a filthy kiss, his lips toying with mine like it's a game. He's winning.

He pulls back with a sigh, "Your mom is home."

"Let me go say hi. It'll make her less inclined to come into my room. Just… chill, I guess."

Derek falls back onto the bed. I sprint out of my room and down the stairs to see Mom in the kitchen with a carrot between her lips.

"Hey Mom."

"Hi Haldey. Did you see your friend Derek today?"

I laugh. "Yeah. I went to visit him."

"Have fun?"

"Tons."

"That's great. I still think you should invite him over sometime. I'd like to meet your friends," Mom says with a tight grin. You mean make sure that they aren't drug dealers.

"Sure."

Mom sighs. "Your brother home yet?"

"Nope."

"Huh. He does know the parent teacher conference is today. We talked about it yesterday," she mumbles to herself. "Maybe he's helping out at the clinic?"

"He didn't say anything to me."

"Well, I'm going to make something really quick to eat, shower, then head to the school."

"I can cook you something," I say. "What do you want?"

"Anything. I'm starving."

I fix her a sandwich. She eats it beside me at the table with small talk about her patients at the hospital. Then she heads upstairs to shower and I dart into my room.

Derek is on the bed sleeping. He's curled up around one of my pillows and snoring softly. It's a sin how adorable this devilish man is.

I go downstairs and turn on the television loudly so that Mom won't check my room. My plan works when she comes down almost an hour later cleaned up and ready for the parent teacher conferences.

"Scott come home yet?"

I shake my head.

"Maybe he's meeting me at the school… I'll call him on the way." She kisses my cheek swiftly.

As soon as she leaves I go upstairs. Derek is sitting up on my bed, his raven hair messier than I've ever seen it before.

"Ready for a shower?"

He squints tired eyes at me, but nods his head in agreement. I grab him a towel, a pair of Scott's basketball shorts with a black teeshirt. He takes them from with a small grin and disappears into the bathroom.

While I'm waiting I debate for a moment about just taking the pain killer. It's not like Derek will know. But I think of the look on his face. The look that said I am better than that, that I don't need it. I change my sheets instead, there's some of Derek's cum on them. My blanket is gross too, but I'll have to wait until the morning to wash that. It'll never be done before I want to go to sleep.

I bring Derek's dirty clothes and the sheets to the laundry to wash them. When I return Derek is stretched across the bed lazily.

"I put your clothes in the wash," I tell him.

He nods.

"Sleepy?"

He nods again.

I shut my bedroom door, turn off the light, and Derek curls around me as I fall into bed.

* * *

Sorry about skipping last week and being late on the chapter updates. Prepping for finals -_-


End file.
